I spend the next couple hours writing a list of all the work the house needs and head over to Dad’s. I tell him and Eric about the phone call, ignoring their identical solemn looks, and get Eric to make copies of the list on his printer. I ask them for help to get the work done in case I can’t get to it all before I leave, and then I give them spare keys—to the house and the cars. I give them the information to my bank accounts to forward on to Riley because if it happens sooner than I want, I don’t want to waste our time together going over these petty details while she whines about not needing it until I tell her to shut up. Then I visit Holly next door. I sit with her and have a quiet meal and I tell her what I know. I ask that she not tell Riley yet, that I want to be the one to do it, and then I tell her that my dad and Eric have spare keys in case she, too, ever needs anything. I don’t know why I tell her that. I don’t really know why I do any of it. Then I go back home and get started on the list. I finish the air conditioner, fix the jammed garage door and clear out the gutters. And then I shower, grab my keys, and put on a mask so I’m ready to face Riley with the plans of keeping the appointment to myself. She doesn’t need to know yet. She’ll just worry—and the fact that she won’t be there will make it worse. I’ll tell her when I know for sure what the plan is. If there even is a plan.

“She’s out back,” Edna, the shelter receptionist, tells me.

I go behind the desk, like I’d done many times before, and make my way through the aisles of cages and crying animals until I see Riley squatting in front of a cage, patting a tiny dog so ugly I swear I would’ve mistaken it for a giant rat.

“Ry,” I call out, walking toward her. “What’s going on? I’ve been waiting in the car for fifteen minutes.”

She looks up, her eyes glassy. “He always cries when I leave. I hate it,” she mumbles, looking back at the dog.

“They’re sad animals,” I remind her. “They cry.”

“Not like this one,” she says. “He’s all scared and alone and he has no-one.” She motions for me to squat down next to her. “Look at him, Dylan.”

I roll my eyes and sigh at the same time. Then I look at the dog. He looks like every other homeless dog. Nothing but skin and bones and spots of fur. His head rests on his front legs, the fur around his eyes wet from all the crying he’s done. “He’s… cute,” I lie. “I’m sure someone will come in and take him. Let’s go. I’ve got stuff to do at the house.”

“Okay,” she says, reluctantly getting up. The dog whimpers as soon as her hand leaves him. “See, baby?”

“Riley.”

“Bye, puppy,” she says, followed by a pout.

She grabs her stuff and starts to leave, looking back at the dog every time it lets out a whimper.

I grasp her shoulders. “Come on, we have to go.”

She’s silent on the way home.

She’s still silent when we have my second meal for the night.

She stays silent as we get into bed, her beautiful pout still in place.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“What’s his name? I’ll kick his ass.”

She fakes a laugh and settles her head on my chest. “It’s sad, that’s all. I know he’s not going to get picked up and they’ll have to put him down. I just hate that for him—like the world’s already given up on him, you know?”

“So what do you want to do about it?”

She looks up quickly, then drops her gaze. “There’s nothing we can do.” She pauses a beat. “Is there?”

“Riley, we can’t have a dog. Not now. I’m going soon—or whenever…” I recover quickly. “And we’d need to train him. We don’t have time for that right now. I’m trying to get the house dealt with and you’re still redecorating or whatever and you won’t be home so I’ll have to deal with him—”

“They said I could bring him to work,” she cuts in.

I sigh. “You’ve spoken to them about it?”

“I was just thinking out loud.” She kisses my chest. “But you’re right. It’s too much right now. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Half an hour later, we’re still awake, still in the same positions. “Riley?”

“Hm?”

“You still thinking about him?”

She leans up on her elbow. “I know it sounds stupid, but I just feel connected to him somehow,” she rushes out. “I feel like at some point, we were at the same place in our lives… like he’s lost and sad and he has no one. He has no family, no friends, everyone’s left him and he just exists. He’d probably rather die—”

“Ry…”

She lies back down, her head on my chest again. “I know. I was just thinking… time’s ticking, you know? And who knows where you’ll be in a month? Who am I going to have to keep me company when I’m missing you and unable to contact you?” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”

I stroke her hair, letting her words sink in. “And they said you could take him to work with you?”

Her body stills, but she doesn’t look up. “Yes…”

“And you promise to take care of him? As in, I don’t have to do anything?”